November 2, 1986
I write this from prison. Things have gone very awry for me the past few years. After the MIR attacks of 1983, I decided to lay low for a while. The DINA found me nonetheless. They came for me in July of 1984. It was at night. No one tried to stop them. I have disappeared.
I still am not sure how they found out about purportedly illicit activities. It was perhaps an informant in the MIR. It could have been some clue I left behind. It does not really matter because I am still in this cell.
They have done offal things to me. I can’t say how many times or how often they have tortured me. The days and weeks and months and year have been blurred together by torment. They have beaten me so many times I am surprised to be alive. They have electrocuted almost every part of my body. They have torn off two fingers on my right hand and three on my left. The rest of my time in passed in solitude in this cell.
I told them everything. I told them truths and lies. They did not let up – my captors were always convinced I had more to tell. After a while I couldn’t come up with any more lies. The past few months, or however long it has been, have involved less brutality. Frankly I have no idea why they are keeping me alive. Many of my wounds have healed but the scars remain. Luckily I did not get any infections from the maiming.
Here I am a wraith, barely aware of the passing of time. I have seen hell while alive – to think I once believed in an afterlife! There is nothing beyond. Some small trace of hope still flickers within me. A hope that one day I will be free. It is a foolish hope, I know, but it is the only thing that gives me some semblance of sanity.